


i'll go with you (stay with me)

by SageMasterofSass



Category: South Park
Genre: Aftermath, Injured!Stan, Kyle is overly concerned about his boyfriend, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective!Stan, Season 22 episode 1, he has rly shitty parents, piggy back rides, school shooting, stan is okay and nobody can convince me otherwise!!!!, tho honestly I don't blame Sharon, why are the adults in this town so terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: Stan's been shot.





	i'll go with you (stay with me)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist after last night's episode. i had to make sure stan was going to be okay even if i had to do it my damn self

The hospital lights are blindingly bright, a shock of fluorescent white that makes dots dance in his vision when he stares for too long. Stan finds himself blinking at them anyways, tears forming along his waterline but not actually falling.

 

“Almost done,” Dr. Doctor hums. His mind is obviously elsewhere, his gaze continuously sliding away from the stitches he’s putting in Stan’s neck. Everyone’s attention seems to be elsewhere, from the paramedics who picked him up to the nurses in the ER who looked him over.

 

The bullet had hurt of course, but it’s not like this is the first time he’s been shot. He thinks maybe that should be odd for a ten year old, but like he also lives in South Park so weird shit like that is just par for the course at this point. Last time he’d gotten caught in the left shoulder and he’s got the puckered scar to prove it, but this time the bullet grazed his throat.

It’s kind of terrifying to think that a few inches is the difference between his life and death.

 

“Alrighty,” Dr. Doctor says, tying off the last stitch with a little flourish. “Let’s get you some gauze and you’ll be all set! Just in time, my show’s about to come on.”

 

A crick is forming in Stan’s neck from holding his head to the side to give the doctor room to work. He straightens up and then yelps when Dr. Doctor pushes him roughly back into position and then slaps a piece of gauze against the wound. Medical tape follows and then he’s gone, not even a clap on Stan’s shoulder in farewell. Stan stares after him feeling like more than just one patch of skin was anesthetized.

 

The exam room is quiet and sterile and he sits there for a good five minutes before a nurse comes to shoo him out. Then he sits in the lobby for another thirty minutes before his parents finally show up. He’s not really sure how insurance or like, paying for medical care works, but he knows he can’t do it himself.

 

Randy stands at the desk with his hands on his hips and argues with the nurse about the price of something. Sharon sits down next to Stan and fusses over him for a minute, her fingers combing nicely through his hair. He was kind of worried she’d be hysterical. Her last few days of screaming and yelling over the school shootings has been kind of super annoying, and now that he’s been hurt she should be beside herself. But she just asks him how he’s feeling and presses a kiss to his forehead.

 

“It’s not the end of the world,” she says. He wants to tell her it almost was, but doesn’t.

 

Randy joins them, muttering obscenities under his breath about the nurse. He frowns at Stan and kind of shakes his head. “Can’t believe you let yourself get shot,” he says. “Weak.”

 

Normally Stan would roll his eyes. Like he __let__ himself get shot or something. But...he kind of did.

 

“Randy!” Sharon scolds, though there's something fond in her voice. What the fuck happened there? A day ago she was at everyone’s, but especially Randy’s, throat. Parents are weird. She rustles Stan’s hair and then stands. “Alright, your father and I have plans for this evening so we’re going to get going. Be sure to be home before dark, okay sweetie?”

 

Stan blinks at her. “You’re just...going to leave me here?”

 

Neither of them seem to be listening. “Have fun!” Sharon calls over her shoulder, even as she takes Randy’s hand and they disappear through the hospital’s automatic doors.

 

“What the fuck,” Stan mumbles, mostly to himself. How’s he even supposed to get home from here? Walking is going to take __forever__. He doesn’t even have a jacket because there had been blood all over it. Also he’s kind of injured? He’s pretty sure the doctor should have given him some kind of painkillers but besides the shot to numb him up he’s gotten nothing. The upper right side of his body is starting to throb, from his jaw all the way down to his arm. Even wiggling his fingers kind of hurts.

 

The dilemma is completely forgotten the moment the sliding doors open again and a red and green blur comes streaking into the lobby. Kyle pauses, head swinging this way and that like he’s not sure where he should be going. His face is flushed like he’s been running and several errant curls have slipped out from under his hat.

 

He hadn’t looked like that earlier, at school. Then he’d been all white teeth flashing as they’d laughed over Cartman failing the math test again, his nose wrinkling, freckles standing out against the red of his cheeks. There’d been another shooting going on of course, but they’re just...so used to it. A constant, dizzying backdrop of violence you become immune to with time. Hard to be immune when some random sixth grader bursts in the door and levels the muzzle of a gun at your best friend. Stan still can’t really remember if he’d actually decided to move, but move he had. It had all happened in such a huge, blurring rush, Stan standing and pushing Kyle both out of the way, and behind him, the gun going off, another, distant gun firing and a bloom of blood spraying from the student’s chest. His weapon had slipped from his fingers and then he’d slumped to the floor, lifeless, adults pouring into the room in his wake.

 

It had taken a moment for Stan to even figure out he’d been hit, a graze along his throat maybe an inch deep pouring blood everywhere. The SWAT team had grabbed his arms, ushering him from the room. Kyle’s voice screaming his name had echoed in his ears, louder even than the gunshots.

 

“Kyle?” he says now. The other boy’s head jerks towards him, his green eyes huge in his face.

 

“Stan, holy shit!” he breathes, rushing across the hospital lobby and wrapping Stan in the biggest hug he’s ever gotten. It’s kind of nice because Kyle is all warm but also __ow__.

 

“Dude, that fucking hurts,” Stan complains. Kyle backs off immediately, spilling apologies. His gaze rakes over Stan’s entire frame, visibly checking him for injuries, before finally settling on the gauze on his throat.

 

“I thought you fucking died,” Kyle whispers.

 

The words feel like a punch. Stan closes his eyes and breathes for a second. He’d come __so__ close to dying. But the scary thing isn’t how close he’d been to death, it’s how if the situation were to happen again, he’d do the same exact fucking thing. Every single time, he’s going to dive in front of this boy. Protect him. It’s terrifying.

 

“Are you okay?” A warm hand settles on his shoulder, just under the wound.

 

Stan opens his eyes again and realizes he’s started to shake a little. After so many people have just dismissed everything that happened, this moment feels realer than all the others. Grounding.

 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, though he’s not sure if it’s really true. “Just tired.”

 

“Are your parents coming to pick you up?”

 

Stan shakes his head. “No, they left me here to go on a date.”

 

“That’s fucked up,” Kyle states.

 

“Yeah.” No sense in not agreeing with it. What kind of parents just leave their kid at the hospital to find his own way home? Stan rubs at his eye, the right one because the pain is spreading even that far up his face. “I don’t know how I’m going to get home. Everything hurts. And my jacket’s ruined. The nurses threw it out.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, but Kyle’s face hardens. It’s a kind of silent resolution that Stan’s seen on his friend’s face before, right before he makes a big decision and then sticks to it. “I’ll carry you,” he declares.

 

“Dude, no,” Stan starts to protest, but Kyle cuts him off.

 

“No man, seriously! You...you saved my life back there. It’s the least I can do.”

 

“I didn’t save your life so you would thank me,” Stan snaps, a sudden rush of anger rising up within him. Just as quickly as it came, it’s gone, soothed by the softening of Kyle’s expression, the way his mouth tugs up at the corners a little.

 

“I know you didn’t, Stan. You were just quicker than me. I was going to do the same damn thing.”

 

Stan stares. “The gun wasn’t even pointed at me,” he finally says.

 

The hint of a smile stretches into a full one. “Yeah, well. That’s what best friends are for.”

 

Stan kind of thinks maybe this goes beyond best friends. Like, __way__  beyond. But he’s tired and in pain and also only ten so what the fuck does it even matter.

 

“Thanks, Kyle. Do you really think you can carry me?”

 

Kyle puffs up his chest dramatically. “Of course! You can even wear my jacket. I’ll get too hot if I wear it.”

 

They do an awkward shuffle around where Stan puts on Kyle’s jacket and then they try to figure out the best way for Kyle to carry him. They decide piggyback is definitely the way to go. It’s tried, it’s true, it’s never let them down before. Kyle staggers under his weight a little at first, but builds momentum quickly. Stan presses his face into Kyle’s shoulder and lets the awkward swaying motion soothe him for a while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i take requests and commissions on my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)!


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